


Storm Dreams

by surlybobbies



Series: Tumblr Quick Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Impala Sex, M/M, Poor Sam, attempts to be poetic when in reality i just wanted to write impala sex, but not graphic impala sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But his eyes slide to Cas’s hands, graceful and folded over his phone, and suddenly he’s in no hurry.  He shuts off the engine.</p><p>Cas raises an eyebrow but says nothing.</p><p>The rain is almost relaxing, if a bit too loud in Dean’s ears.  It’s easy to pretend he’s dreaming, that this is another midnight fantasy he’d never admit to.  He reaches over to skate a hand over Cas’s bare forearm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Quick Fic #26.  
> S11 compliant but not necessarily spoiler-y. Also, if you're looking for graphic sex, sorry - that's not in this fic.

Dean pulls up into the bunker’s clearing. The Impala’s wipers work overtime in the sudden rain that overtook them some twenty minutes ago, and he purrs endearments to her as he drives up to the garage door. 

“Can you call Sam?” he asks, maneuvering so he can toss Cas his phone. “Ask him to open the garage door.”

Cas blinks, startled awake. “’fcourse,” he mumbles automatically. He dials Sam’s number. It goes to voicemail.

Dean stares at the phone, then at the closed garage door. “Gotta be kidding me,” he sighs. 

“I could open it with my gr - “

“Nope, you’re still not 100% - “

“It’s hardly a taxing request - “

“No.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m not getting out in this rain.”

“Not asking you to,” Dean says. He figures he could do it - just hurry to the garage door and jimmy it enough so it opens for him. But his eyes slide to Cas’s hands, graceful and folded over his phone, and suddenly he’s in no hurry. He shuts off the engine.

Cas raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

The rain is almost relaxing, if a bit too loud in Dean’s ears. It’s easy to pretend he’s dreaming, that this is another midnight fantasy he’d never admit to. He reaches over to skate a hand over Cas’s bare forearm.

Cas’s eyes fly to his, surprised, but Dean’s past thinking. He shivers when lightning illuminates the horizon, when thunder rattles his bones. His hand wraps around Cas’s wrist. “Aren’t you cold?” he asks, and in the thrill of the pounding rain, in the thrumming of Cas’s heartbeat under his fingers, even his voice sounds distant, like he’s hearing it from across a football field.

He watches Cas’s throat move, then his lips when they form his next words: “I - yes, actually.”

And then it’s so easy to shuffle closer, to huff a breath along Cas’s collarbone, to press open, warm kisses to his neck. When Cas gasps and pulls on Dean’s hair, they meet halfway in a bruising kiss, teeth knocking like teenagers. 

They end up pressed up against the passenger side window, Cas’s head knocking against the glass every time his head lolls back in pleasure, Dean’s hands at his belt.

Later, while Cas hums contentedly into Dean’s hair, sated, Dean catches sight of his phone, lying in the footwell. He groans against Cas’s bare chest. “Think we just gave Sammy a hell of a voicemail.”

Cas laughs, real and close and warm, and Dean revels in reality.


End file.
